


Manners

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: F/F, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-02 23:03:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16796446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: If there was anyone in this world she would ever follow with all her heart, it would only be Lady Mòrag.





	Manners

**Author's Note:**

> with the implication that Brighid never really changes from lifetime to lifetime aside from nuances and whatever, i think it'd be cute if she was originally just as rude and sassy as she was back in Torna when she first resonates with Mòrag 
> 
> anyway i just wanted to write about brighid swooning over morag cuz thirst

_Cadet._

Isn’t a very good excuse in the face of very real consequences resulting from stupid mistakes. Mistakes are mistakes. The Ardainian military has no elbow room for mistakes. This cadet in particular seems to know that, if his nervous fidgeting is any clue. His face is probably sweltering beneath the mask and helmet.

Mòrag, to her credit, doesn’t point this out, coolly flipping through the pages of his report.

Brighid usually doesn’t speak when she’s stationed to her Driver’s side and a step behind. As much as Mòrag insists that they’re to be treated as equals, Brighid knows her position as second-in-command, _second_ to Mòrag’s _first_ , just as this soldier should know his station at the bottom of the army’s food chain.

When he coughs and rubs at his goggles with the knuckles of his gloves and noisily snorts up mucus, Brighid’s jaw twitches.

“Is this all you have to say about the incident?” Mòrag turns the thin stack of pages over, as if looking for more writing.

“Shit, that’s not enough?!” The soldier blurts out in disbelief. His voice is a bit too loud. Brighid’s jaw twitches again.

"No."

"Damnit..." 

“ _Amateurish_ ,” Brighid angrily sneers, folding her arms. “How did you manage to get recruited with that ineptitude?”

The soldier blanches, then lowers his head in shame. “I didn’t mean— I’m sorry—“

“Don’t bother wasting your breath with groveling. Oh, are you trembling in your boots now? That’s the attitude you’re planning to contribute to the Empire’s growth with?”

Mòrag’s shoulders stiffen, just slightly, but her gaze remains aimed straight ahead. Without turning around to face her, she calmly speaks.

“Brighid. Manners.”

Ah.

The air seems to grow as cold as a Tantalese winter, though Brighid’s flames continue to flicker. She has an apology ready at the tip of her tongue, as inwardly flustered as she is at being told off so abruptly in a manner so nonchalant, but Mòrag seems more interested in moving on with the matter at hand. The blood— or ether— pulses loud in Brighid’s head. She barely hears Mòrag explaining to the cadet the faults of his report. The cadet, as nervous as he still is, takes it all in stride with his eagerness to run off and escape the tense atmosphere. So he does with a _ma’am!_ and clumsy salute, and Mòrag is left alone in the office with Brighid.

She leans back in her seat with an exhale.

“… Lady Mòrag, I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn,” Brighid carefully says. She loosely folds her hands together, unsure where to put them.

Mòrag holds up a hand to effectively silence her. Finally she turns, tilting her cap up to get a better look at her Blade. It’s difficult to tell what she’s thinking in that moment. “You’re free to speak whenever you want, Brighid. Don’t forget that.”

“However,” she continues before Brighid can offer another apology. “Keep in mind that you hold quite the influence with your words alone, as the Jewel of Mor Ardain.”

“Y-yes, of course.”

“I don’t believe in disciplining our troops through intimidation and aggression,” Mòrag says, slowly standing up. “You did have a point about his incompetence, though.”

She dares to smile at that, and is more relieved than she’d care to admit when Mòrag smiles back.

“If you ever have complaints to make, air them out to me instead. In private. We both have an image to uphold, after all.”

Brighid eagerly nods.

When she was awakened, she remembered nothing more than her name and instincts as a Blade. She’d been annoyed for a time, admittedly, when she found herself up on that pedestal as this Empire’s prized Blade with so many men and politicians and soldiers simpering up to her as if they expected her to accept all that flattery and do whatever they wished. No, she didn’t care for all that pomp and circumstance. Not at first. Who were these fools to presume that she’d so gladly use her power for their sake? —But then she grew closer and closer to the woman who held her swords, and through her alone, Brighid found a reason to care about all of… this.

She saw too many cracks and flaws in the Empire’s structure. Politicians too greedy to do the right thing. Soldiers fighting for glory, not for honor. Idiots and fools and simpletons left and right driving the Titan closer and closer to its death.

But amongst it all, Mòrag remained steadfast and noble.

If there was anyone in this world she would ever follow with all her heart, it would only be Lady Mòrag.

“I don’t know how you manage to maintain your composure in front of cretins like that…”

Mòrag places one hand on Brighid’s shoulder, her eyes turning soft. “I always keep the important things in mind.”

For the sake of her public image? No. For the sake of… the important things. Ahh, of course, it’d always been that simple. Brighid pushes back her embarrassment and covers Mòrag’s hand with her own.

“I’ll try to be more… gentle, with my choice of words.”

“Only in public, mind you.”

A silent moment of understanding passes between them, leaving Mòrag awkwardly coughing into her fist and Brighid pretending to busy herself with organizing the strewn papers across the desk.


End file.
